by Anna Dodson A part of me thinks I loved you mostthat summer. Amid sickness and in health,we took the furthest parking spot,then plundered empty grocery aisles. Each with our own mini-shopping cartto parallel-play in hoodies and shorts,we blocked an entire row. You said,“Aren’t we being so domestic?” You stood…
by Thomas Weedman You see the sea of mourners bundled in black fill the small Mission Basilica for the evening wake. Extended family and familiar faces, A to Zed, flow from the past like shivery spindrift. You pray not all of them come though, not him. Not again. Please, not…
by Annh Browder My mama always said that flies were the first sign that something had died. When autumn came and our garden would die, flies would soon follow. They would lay their eggs in the dead plants’ husks, and, eventually, those eggs would hatch. I would often watch them…